Serving Robert Baraethon
by mastertenzin
Summary: This story is about Lancel Lannister's feelings at how cruel Robert treats him when he serves him, whether it's an armor, pouring him red wine. Please excuse that I didn't use question marks and instead cleared it up saying he asked, or he interrogated, or he questioned. I don't know if it's correct, but don't let it get in your way of judging the fic. Thanks :)


I'm _tired_ of it. I'm exasperated by Robert Baratheon's blatant way of treating me like a worthless and useless animal. I abhor him. I always live in a constant fear that one mistake, one slip-up, one reason I'm disrespecting the King, would lead in my cruel death. I still hope and pray his death, though. Serving a fat man that only craves red wine sure is breathtaking, I always thought. I'm distressed of it.

I start striving to put his armor but his fat body won't permit me to continue. It's made too small, I say.

It won't go, your grace, I continue as I keep trying. He gazes at me with a blank stare and I feel how his terrifying glare penetrates more than just my own eyes. Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass, he frowns. He has a quite long brown beard mixed with curly gray strands with deep brown eyes and partly wavy hair lying on his broad shoulders. I widen my blue eyes as he says it mercilessly. I look down and grasp the armor taking it to the left. Ned, his Hand, walks in. Look at this idiot, he begins to the quiet Ned. One ball and no brains, he exclaims glaring at me as I hold the armor and gaze at Ned. He can't even put a man's armor properly, he claims as he beholds back at Ned. He slightly nods, _what else could he do?_ You're too fat for your armor, Ned snickers arm-crossed sarcastically. Fat, he interrogates very serious. _He shouldn't had said that_, I think. Fat, is it, he asks listlessly. Is that how you speak to your _King_, he questions. He starts laughing, he obviously would have token a joke from his own Hand. Ned annexes him, chuckling a little.

He observes me, he is still cackling horridly. I am looking down as usual, and he catches me, just to see if I was joining them and let out, at least, a little smirk. I notice he is checking me, and I falsely accompany him letting out a silent laugh. Baratheon stops laughing. He regains his frowning, straight wrinkly face. His face is _always_ frowning, I think. That was funny, is it, he questions as I wonder what to respond. _Should I say yes, should I say no? I shan't say yes, for the king might believe I'm disrespecting him_, I think thoroughly. No, I start. Your grace, I say, regaining composure. I'm speaking to a king, aren't I? No, he interrogates. You don't like the Hand's joke, he continues. He rapidly glares for a second at his Hand, Ned, and gazes back at me._ I should've thought this more, of course it was hilarious to him, wasn't he laughing?_

Not knowing what to do I catch Ned, hoping a word will come out of his mouth. _Maybe he_, he thinks,_ could save his head from being chopped off._ You're torturing the poor boy, he admits, still arm-crossed at Baratheon. You heard him, Baratheon exclaims, The King's too fat for his armor! I slightly frown as he shouts laying his eyes somewhere else. Go find the breastplate stretcher, he keeps on going, now! He said moving his head I widen my eyes and I look down at the armor leaving it on top of the wooden table.

I quickly leave but remain eavesdropping for a little while. The breastplate stretcher, I hear what I believe is Ned asking as he stays laughing in the middle of his words. How long before he figures it out, Baratheon snickers as I see from an opening he seizes a small cup of red wine, his favorite. Maybe you should have one invented, Ned chuckles. All right, Baratheon repeats twice as he takes a sip of his wine. Drink, he offers Ned. I'm not thirsty, Ned answers. Drink, your king commands you so, he says sarcastically. Although Ned knows Baratheon is just teasing, he takes the drink anyway, he wouldn't risk it. Your squire, he says, a Lannister boy, he questions. A bloody idiot, he nods, sitting with his wine at hand, but Cersei insisted, he clarifies Ned.

I leave for I can't stand listening to Baratheon's shit anymore.

_I'm tired of it. _


End file.
